


Healing Hands of Death

by Veslya



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, just some scrapes, takes place after The Brigmore Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 07:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13453701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veslya/pseuds/Veslya
Summary: The future Empress has just been saved from possession, and Daud has been temporarily taken out by a poisonous plant. Now Thomas is in command - just in time to have a boat with none other than an unconscious Corvo Attano float into the Flooded District.The Outsider is probably laughing at him.





	Healing Hands of Death

_ It was not supposed to be like this. _

This thought was the only thing keeping Thomas company while he sat next to Daud's bed, numbly watching his master lie almost unnaturally still, sweat on his forehead, sometimes gasping for breath. It should not have happened like this… but life never cared about that. 

Now Daud was sick, poisoned by a strange vine they had encountered in Brigmore Manor. Lurk was gone, had betrayed them and left, and Attano had drifted into their hands, helpless and weak. Not knowing what to do, Thomas had taken the former Lord Protector’s weapons, stashed them in his room, and had the other Whalers put him into one of their cells, hoping Daud would wake up soon and decide what to do with him.

It was a strange irony, both Attano and Daud taken down by poison. If Thomas had been anyone else, if he had been Lurk, both of them would already be dead, and even now his fingers twitched, thoughts urging him to transverse to their prison and simply kill Attano before the man could take his revenge on them. The man would do it, Thomas had no doubts about it. Attano had dismantled the entire coup without spilling a single drop of blood, but the ones involved in it had ended up losing everything. There was nothing to lose for the Whalers but their lives, each other… and Daud.

The sound of a transversal behind him tore Thomas out of his dark musings. "What is it?" he asked, eyes not leaving Daud's face. Had he twitched, blinked...?

No answer came, and Thomas frowned. He pushed away from the chair, getting to his feet, and turned - then froze, simply staring. Back at him looked the masked face of Corvo Attano, the grey-clad body of a Whaler slung over his shoulder. It was impossible to tell if the novice was dead or simply unconscious, but Thomas had learned about the futility of optimism a long time ago. Whoever it was, they...

No! Everything inside of him rebelled against the situation’s reality. It could not be happening, not now, not like this! Daud was still unable to even move, and why had there been no report of the man escaping? He could not be here!

Then Attano simply let the other assassin - Andrei, Thomas belatedly recognized - slide to the floor, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. Thomas forced his face out of its shocked expression, into a more controlled one, and fell into a fighting stance, hand moving to his sword, but finding nothing. Icy cold crept through his veins. 

It was gone - of course it was gone, like his mask. He had taken it off, he remembered now, placed it on top of the chest at the foot of Daud's bed. Thomas’ eyes strayed there for a second before he could stop them, force them to look back at Attano. Another mistake, and he paid for it. Before he could pull the weapon towards himself, time stuttered (such a familiar feeling, yet so different) and it was gone, as was Attano.

Thomas whirled around, almost scared at what he would find there, but Daud was still there, still sleeping, still  _ breathing _ . Still  _ alive _ . Thomas felt something in his chest clench and relax again, horribly confused. What was going on? Was Attano… playing with him?

Another transversal behind him announced Attano's return. Before the man got the chance to do anything else, though, Thomas Blinked, trying to catch him off guard, swinging a fist at his face.

It was not a true attempt to win, more of a distraction. Thomas stood no chance against the one who had obviously gotten through their entire base without giving them a chance to set off even a single alarm. He would fail, probably die, not even a noteworthy obstacle in the way of the former Lord Protector. But Daud was behind him, still motionless, still unable to even talk, and while he had given orders to leave Attano's fate to him a long time ago, Thomas was not about to simply abandon him. None of the orders had, after all, explicitly been about attacking the man.

Something else had probably played a role in that; Daud would never have expected Thomas, of all people, to blindly throw himself at an enemy who outmatched him so much it could not even be called a fight.

It was over before it truly began. Thomas barely caught the glow of an activated Mark before Attano dodged his attack with inhuman speed, gave him a shove, making him stumble over Andrei's body, and finished with a blast of wind that sent him flying into a wall. The impact forced his breath out of his lungs. Moments later he found himself on the ground on all fours, arms trembling, ears ringing, gasping for air and struggling to understand what had happened.

Boots went past him, towards Daud's bed, and Thomas managed to wheeze a low "stop." For a second the steps faltered, but then continued. A heavy weight settled in Thomas' stomach, leeching even more at his strength. But he pushed, forcing himself to his feet, swaying badly, but standing. Then a Blink, badly aimed, poorly executed, but it threw him into Attano's path, between him and the bed Thomas immediately had to hold on to.

"Stop," Thomas repeated, voice already a bit steadier than before. "Don't..."  _ Don't what? _ he wondered.  _ Don't come closer? Don't just walk around me, transverse past me? Don't hurt him, don't kill him? The man who killed your empress, took her daughter, put you into Coldridge for six months? I've seen what they do to people in there. What is there I can say to make him stop? _

Before he could decide which one of those equally damning things he would say, a weak, rasping,  _ familiar _ voice interrupted his thoughts. "Thomas."

Thomas had already halfway turned when he remembered Attano was standing right in front of him. He could barely believe his ears - Daud was awake? Now? A spark of hope, small but undeniably  _ there _ , lit up in his chest. Hope that everything would end well, that Daud would somehow defeat Attano, send him running, that everything would go back to normal now that Daud was back. He knew better, he  _ knew _ , and it  _ hurt _ , yet he could not stop. 

"Daud?" His voice was far too emotional, filled with hope, worry, fear, so many things he could not name, and he hated it, hated how it made him sound like a scared child. Hated how it reminded him how that was what he felt like. How all of it had to be showing on his face right now, because Thomas had never been able to conceal his emotions. But his master was awake, and it was almost too much for him to deal with at once.

And then Daud managed to drive a dagger into his heart by saying one simple word: "Go."

"...what?" It was only a whisper that escaped Thomas' lips. He felt the blood draining from his face, his insides freeze, and he hoped, almost prayed, that he had somehow misunderstood.

"Go," Daud repeated, and for a moment Thomas wished Lurk was here. He wished he  _ was _ Lurk, disobeying orders whenever she felt like it and not even caring. But he was Thomas, so he grit his teeth, clenched his fist and transversed onto a nearby, still standing piece of partly broken-down wall. He had never hated himself quite the way he did at that moment, betrayal creeping through his soul. Whose? He could not tell.

All he could do was watch helplessly while Attano stopped next to Daud's bed, hand on his weapon. Thomas' heart beat wildly against his chest and his fingers clawed into the unforgiving stone while he was caught in a torrent of conflicting emotions. Every fiber of his being urged him towards Daud, towards Attano, willing to do whatever it took to stop him, no matter how unlikely his success. But at the same time he was held back, trapped by Daud's order, desperately trying to trust him, believe that everything would  _ somehow _ end well. He barely even felt the sharp edges of the stone cut deeply into his hands.

When Daud's voice rasped at the edge of his hearing, Thomas found himself trembling. He could not make out what he was saying, but his words were low, calm, hesitating. Defeated. Thomas' eyes burned. He could not remember the last time he had cried, had thought it was behind him now. But this was Daud, the one who had given him a new life, a new  _ purpose _ . It had not been grand, not good, nor kind, but it had been  _ his _ .

And now Daud was going to die and Thomas could only watch. Daud's short speech, whatever it had been about, was over. Attano still had not said a single word. This was it, Thomas suddenly knew with startling clarity, the time for talking was over. Daud would die now, and maybe Thomas would follow him even into death, killed by Attano when the man finally grew tired of playing with him. He knew it with such absolute certainty that he felt like it was tearing him apart, yet he could not move.

Then, suddenly, Attano was gone from Daud's bedside. Thomas jumped onto his feet, turning, cursing inwardly at the Arcane Bond that had given him only the ability to do transversals and tethering, not even a weak version of Void Gaze. Attano could be anywhere, and Thomas did not even want to imagine what he was up to.

His wild search lasted for approximately three seconds, then he could take it no longer and transversed back to Daud. Leaving bloody handprints on the sheets, he searched for some sort of sign telling him what had happened. After several seconds of frantic looking, listening, feeling for a pulse, he finally calmed down enough to notice Daud breathing, to feel the soft thrum of a heartbeat against his fingertips. A wave of relief and confusion crashed into him, almost making him sway on his feet.

The soft song of a bonecharm infiltrated his thoughts, and he found another unexpected sight. Attano had left a gift behind, nestled underneath the blankets covering Daud's chest, singing of healing, of purging poison, of recovering strength. Thomas was stunned. What was Attano thinking? Even after he had sent out all of the Whalers they could spare, they had never found a bonecharm this specific, nothing useful to their - or rather Daud's - situation, not even close. And Attano possessed one and simply gave it away?

Though it would explain, a small voice piped up in the back of his head, how he recovered so quickly when they had found him in a state similar to Daud's only yesterday.

But not even those thoughts could distract him from the fact that Daud was alive, still alive, and now had a better chance of recovery than he had had before… and they owed it all to Attano.

Remaining where he was for another long moment, Thomas allowed himself the hope that Daud might stay alive, recover even, then he squashed it - all kinds of things could still happen, and what if Attano had not left yet? - and took a step away from the bed. There was still Andrei he had to check up on, he reminded himself, and the entire rest of the base. And if Attano was still here, hiding somewhere, still capable of killing them all…

Before he could take even a single step towards his fellow Whaler, a small stone landed in front of his feet. Thomas' eyes shot up, almost immediately finding Attano sitting on the same piece of wall he had left less than a minute ago, looking at him through that damned mask and patting the empty space next to him. When Thomas hesitated, wary of the man he simply did not understand, it turned into the beckoning wave of a hand. 

Remembering how easily Attano had pushed him around earlier, Thomas knew he did not have much of a choice. He transversed.

At his arrival Attano turned, apparently watching the desolate city outside the Whalers' hideout, and slapped his hand onto the edge of the wall at his left side. Thomas shoved the thought to simply push him off aside, perfectly aware that Attano had the ability to perform transversals as well, and followed the clear order: He sat down, as far away from the Lord Protector as he could without falling off the rather small surface, leaving another bloodstain on the stone. At least he managed to reduce his reaction to a slightly harsher breath - it would not do to show even more weakness to Attano.

Then there was silence, with Attano seemingly relaxed, body language passive and nonthreatening, and Thomas tense, trying his best to keep from fidgeting or looking at his hands, missing his mask more than he would ever have thought possible.

Speaking of masks: Attano had broken into his room, he suddenly realized, to get to his equipment. Thomas shivered and quickly looked away, trying not to think of it. Suddenly his hands seemed like a fascinating thing to focus all of his attention on.

The silence between them stretched, and finally the question of exactly how much of Sokolov's Elixir Thomas was going to need to fix his hands (which were in far worse shape than he had thought - it almost seemed like a miracle that he could still move them) stopped being a distraction. Instead it turned into a cause of worry itself when it led towards the question of how many Whalers were left, how many of them needed Elixir for their injuries... How much of their few valuables had Attano taken with him, how much of the Elixir? Would they would have to take the rationing further and start cutting people off? Then, the most important question of all:  _ Was anyone even still alive? _

A drop of blood fell from his fingers towards the distant water, and Thomas could not take it anymore. He had to speak. 

"You didn't kill Daud." It was an obvious statement, really. He had seen it, checked it, but somehow he still feared that Attano would remember he had intended to do just that and simply finish the job now. "...are you still going to?"

Stealing a glance at the man Thomas barely caught the shake of his head. He could not help but stare, unable to believe it - but what reason would Attano have to lie to him? He was nothing, a nobody, Attano had already proven that much. And what reason would the man have to torture Thomas like this, giving him empty promises only to go back on them? He did not know Thomas as more than a bad assassin, knew nothing about the things he had done that would make him hate him this much… there was nothing he knew, nothing he could know.

No knowledge was hidden when the Outsider got involved.

When he tried, Thomas could still feel the kicks and punches, the girl's attempts to break free, to save her mother. He could still hear her screams, her pleas, her sobs; still see the broken look on her face when she fell. Before finally transversing away, he had seen the same look echoed on the Lord Protector's face. Thomas usually tried very hard to avoid it.

"What about the others?" he asked, partly out of worry, but also as an attempt to distract himself. Instead of using words to answer, though, Attano pushed one hand into a pocket and Thomas flinched away, every other emotion suddenly extinguished by terror. His fingers clawed into the stone again, ignoring the pain that shot up his arms, and he trembled. 

Running would not save him, he knew, nothing would. If he stayed Attano might make it quick and painless, or maybe decide he was harmless, not worth the trouble. Nevertheless Thomas could not stop the shaking that had taken hold of his entire body, barely managing to control his breathing. His fingers burned like fire but he did not dare to let go - it seemed like the only thing that kept him grounded, the fraying thread he was barely holding on to.

Then a hand moved into his field of vision, and Thomas was already halfway through aiming a transversal simply as far away as he could reach before he managed to stop himself and look.

At first he could simply not comprehend what he was seeing. It was a crossbow bolt, not too different from the darts they used for their wristbows in theory, and it possessed a hollow chamber filled with a familiar green liquid.

It was a sleep dart, Thomas recognized finally, and that Attano showed it to him like this meant... "They're asleep?" he asked, once more despising the hope in his voice. There was no way...

Attano nodded.

"All of them?" It seemed impossible, inconceivable. "They're alive, all of them?" This man had infiltrated the home of the people who had ruined his life completely undetected and then proceeded to… refuse to take even a single life? It seemed like a story for children, unbelievable, a fairy tale...

Another nod.

Tears burned in Thomas’ eyes again. "How?" he asked, voice raw, but also sounding younger than he had for a long time. "How are you not broken, not like… like us?" Because they were, every single one of them, and they knew, though they would never accept it. Every single one of them had lost a piece of themselves before Daud had taken them in. 

Thomas had known killing people was wrong in an abstract way until he had done it, experienced it, and known the wrongness far more intimately. And then he had continued to kill, feeling more and more powerful, invincible, knowing but not understanding. It had seemed natural, like it was the only way things could have gone in his life. 

And now Attano showed up, his life in ruins, six months spent in Coldridge, the entire world against him, and he had faced everyone who had been responsible for it without taking even a single life.

Now the mask was staring back at Thomas, giving away no sound, no signal he had even heard, nothing at all, and suddenly Thomas thought he understood - not the answer to his question, but the one thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind all this time. His grip on the stone loosened and he felt the fresh wounds starting to bleed the same moment tears began to run down his face. 

Even though it might have been one of the most horrible things to do to someone in Attano’s situation, Thomas tore his eyes away from him, unable to bear looking at him for even another second. Attano would never answer this question, or any other. It seemed like Coldridge had destroyed either his will or his ability to speak, maybe even both, and it was all their fault.

Clenching his fists, Thomas let both blood and tears drop down into the water far below. A strange, almost alien feeling slowly built up in his chest, filling him with numbness, keeping him from breathing, holding his heart in an iron grip and finally blocking off his throat with what might as well have been a knife.

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered. "I'm so sorry. For everything." He drew a shuddering breath. "I know this won't - can't possibly mean anything to you, but..."

A soft touch on his arm interrupted him, and there was silence, only broken by Thomas' loud breathing as he tried to control himself again. This was… why was Attano not raging, pushing him off the wall, stabbing, shooting, hurting, killing him? No amount of regret and apologies would ever be enough to take back what they had done. So why was Thomas still alive, unharmed?

Was this how Daud had felt those last six months?

Attano pulled slightly on his right arm, and Thomas allowed it, unsure of what the man was trying to accomplish but beyond caring. Maybe he would take his hand off, remove the limb that had caused so much pain, then leave Thomas to bleed out. For some reason Thomas did not care, though something told him he should.

Then Attano pried open his fingers, surprisingly gently, though Thomas still had to clench his teeth against the sudden wave of pain that caused. Would he take his fingers instead? The numbness that had settled around Thomas like a fog was slowly wearing off, letting him feel a twinge of fear.

Strangely enough, Attano put his now open hand down in his lap - a bad place to cut off anything, Thomas' mind supplied helpfully, especially if all you had was a sword, even if it was foldable - and pulled a familiar red liquid almost out of nowhere, making all of Thomas' thought processes grind to a sudden halt. 

Sokolov's Elixir? What was the man going to do with that? Several scenarios buzzed through his mind, but one seemed more ridiculous than the other. Fact was that while it protected against the plague, it also healed wounds when combined with the magic of the Outsider, and Attano had to know that. So what was this supposed to accomplish?

Maybe he wanted Thomas to survive after taking his hands?

Attano uncorked the elixir and poured some of it over a clean piece of cloth. Then he wiped it over Thomas' injured fingers.

The whaler hissed, surprised and pained in equal parts. One of the ingredients, Daud had told him once, was river crust acid, and it certainly felt like it, burning like boiling water as his skin absorbed every little drop that touched it. Only seconds later the heat was replaced by a soft warmth that spread through his hand, numbing the pain. Thomas relaxed unconsciously, suddenly faced with the absence of pain in at least one hand, and Attano removed the cloth again, studying the limb closer.

A soft "oh" escaped Thomas when he finally got a good look of it. He had expected some scrapes and cuts, but as the pain of healing had suggested, it was in a far worse state, several of the wounds deep and still spilling blood, despite the elixir doing its work already. Dirt was still embedded in the wounds, but Attano simply added more elixir to the cloth and began to clean them, seemingly having forgotten about the fact that Thomas was supposed to be his enemy, to be killed, not healed.

Finally, when Attano was done with his hand (and Thomas would need some more Elixir for it later, but he would almost certainly be able to keep it, a risk he had only noticed belatedly - did Attano simply not know what an enemy was?), Thomas dared to ask. "Why did you...?"

He stopped himself even before Attano could do so, remembering suddenly why the man had not yet spoken. Once more Attano acted as if he had not heard the question at all, instead holding out his hand again, this time pointing at Thomas' left which was still slowly dripping blood.

"You mean...?" Thomas motioned towards Attano with it, making it seem like a part of the question. It was answered by a nod and a beckoning motion, but Thomas realized something. He was sitting too far from Attano. If the man did indeed intend to take care of his other hand as well, it would be an uncomfortable position for both of them.

"Just a moment..." Thomas threw a short look at the hand that had already been treated, but using it still seemed to be out of question. That left only one option. Taking a deep breath, Thomas performed one of the shortest transversals of his entire life, hoping he would not overshoot.

He came out of it tense and far too close to Attano, but still alive. They were not touching, barely, but Thomas was close enough to notice the man's small flinch. "Sorry," he mumbled, mentally cursing himself. He should have warned the man, not surprised (frightened?) him like that. Had his common sense finally decided to leave now?

It was strange, worrying about scaring someone who had made Thomas want to run for his life not all that long ago.

Attano paused for a moment, then reached for the hand again, and this time Thomas held it out for him, watching while it was cleaned. It felt surreal, sitting this close to the one they had thought would kill them, having him take care of wounds caused by Thomas' carelessness with gentle hands.

When Attano was done, Thomas looked away, considering a transversal back to where he had been sitting before but discarding that thought again almost immediately. "Thank you," he said instead, taking another look at his hands. The wounds would scar (really, what had he been  _ thinking _ ?) and remind him of this day, possibly the strangest of his life, but he would keep his hands - and get to use them again.

After regarding them some more, he finally turned back to Attano. "What are you going to do now?" _ If you’re not going to kill us _ , he almost added but then managed to hold back. There was no reason to challenge his luck even more than he already had.

Attano shrugged, mask once more not betraying any kind of emotion, then gestured towards what Thomas recognized as the general direction of their base's exit. Right, he should have been able to guess that... 

"You need the key." When Attano nodded, he added, a strange, giddy energy taking over his mind: "I have it. I'll meet you there." And before he could think about his next action long enough to stop himself, he pushed away from the piece of crumbling wall they were still sitting on, suddenly falling, almost flying. It only lasted for a heartbeat, but when he transversed to what they sometimes ironically called their 'front entrance', his grin of delight was hard to suppress. 

When was the last time he had done this? As a novice, it had been his favorite way of getting down from almost anywhere - simply jump and rely on his transversals to break his fall. He had missed it, he realized as he was looking around. Had missed playing with his abilities, finding their limits, testing their potential. And it had taken this to remind him.

The next moment Attano appeared next to him, and together they climbed through the window back into the base. With a single look Thomas was immediately reminded of what the other man had done to gain access to Daud's office. Bodies of whalers lay scattered all across the room, and Thomas stumbled back against the wall as the reality of the situation hit him again. He stopped and closed his eyes, then took a few deep breaths. There was no lingering smell of blood and death, and if he listened closely he could hear the sound of their breathing. They were still alive, as Attano had told him. Alive and, it seemed, mostly unharmed.

It was not at all like the Overseer’s attack.

When he had finally managed to calm down again Thomas opened his eyes again and pulled the key out of his pocket, flinching slightly when the action pulled at his wounds. Then he presented it to Attano. 

"There's another door down there, the key opens that one as well. It leads to the pit they dump the plague victims in. On the other side, behind a whale skeleton, there's a hidden entrance to the sewers, and once you're in there you can go almost anywhere in the city." Thomas paused for a moment. "If you see an old woman muttering about her birdies, avoid her. That's Granny Rags, if you've heard of her. She's dangerous, despite her looks." He felt like a fool saying this, was sure his advice was neither wanted nor welcome. But Attano listened, nodded, and finally took the key from his hand, unlocking the door and vanishing in a transversal.

A sharp breath escaped Thomas' lungs, and he noticed his hands were trembling. Shaking his head, he crouched down next to a Whaler he recognized as Leonid, slumped strangely against a wall.

It seemed like Attano had tried to make them as comfortable as possible, but not cared too much when it had not worked out on his first try. The way you did things, apparently, when you broke into a secret base belonging to a group of assassins who had killed your empress.

Thomas pulled Leonid to the side, laying him onto the floor instead, and, after a moment of contemplation, carefully pulled off his mask, using it as a makeshift pillow. This way his fellow Whaler would be able to sleep off whatever Attano had done to knock him out and wake up without having cramps all over his body - hopefully.

Once more the sound of a transversal behind him alerted him of someone's presence. Still on edge he turned immediately, refusing to be caught off guard again, and yet only managed to stare again. Attano had returned, key dangling from his hand, and automatically Thomas held out his hand for it, conscious mind not yet having caught up to the mystery that was Attano. He had not expected to get it back.

The key dropped back into his hand, and for a moment Thomas did not know what to do with it. Meanwhile Attano, delivery finished, turned and prepared to transverse back down, until Thomas managed to make his tongue obey his commands again. 

"Attano, wait!"

The man stopped, looking back over his shoulder, and Thomas hurried to drop the key back into his pocket before reaching behind his back, to one of the hidden bags sewn into their uniforms. Metal and bone dug into his sore hand and he winced, then pulled out a small object, holding it out to Attano again. 

"Here. Take it."

This finally managed to draw a reaction from the man - a confused jerk of the head, one leg moving backwards before it could be stopped, the man was clearly shocked. To tell the truth, so was Thomas, but he did not move. Feeling like a fool once more, he looked to the ground and added: "It's a bonecharm, to… replaced the one you left here." 

There was no need to explain what it did - Attano would be able to hear it sing, and Thomas already felt stupid enough without having to explain that he was gifting him a bonecharm against bad dreams. Even if Attano likely did need it after the last six months.

Only a heartbeat after Thomas had managed to finish that thought he felt the charm being taken and a hand clapping down onto his shoulder, resting there for a moment. Another transversal - and this close Thomas could feel displaced air rushing back - then Attano was gone, presumably for good this time.

A small smile spread on Thomas' face and he whispered a "thank you" at the empty space in front of him. For the first time in years he did not squash the feeling of hope blooming in his chest. It was hope that there might be another path, that maybe things were not always going to end badly. Hope that there was still good in this world, and that maybe, just maybe, Thomas could still be part of it.

He turned, intent on checking up on the other Whalers, making them more comfortable before waiting for them to wake up. And the smile, still fragile but growing stronger, stayed on his lips.


End file.
